


Sketched in Memory

by ForcedSimile



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Art, Drawing, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:37:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2278662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForcedSimile/pseuds/ForcedSimile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But he had to do this, while the memories were still fresh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sketched in Memory

He didn't expect to be good in a few days. He didn't expect to be good at it in a few months even. He wasn't even aiming to master the skill. All Levi wanted was to get good enough at drawing so he could capture her. So here he was, after a long mission, after piles and piles of paperwork and he was drawing by candlelight. But he had to do this, while the memories were still fresh. Her rain soaked hair, her expression when they got new Titans, the look of pain seeing the young, dead recruits. He had to remember it all.

He had friends before, even though he would have never told them how much they meant to him, he probably was unaware of how he felt himself. Their voices faded into his memory, and as their voices went, slowly their faces were going along with them.

Hange was not allowed to fade away. He had to keep trying to capture her. So kept his little book of blank pages hidden. Even after it was filled with poor attempts at drawing her, he'd keep it from others and start a new one. He wouldn't even let her see it. In the chance that she died, he needed that book, all the books that he was probably going to fill with failed attempts and failures that worked a little better. Because he would run his fingers over the lines and try and remember what he was trying to capture about her. It wouldn't be as hard if he at least had a frame of reference for what he was trying to picture.

Maybe she knew he was watching her during long missions or during breakfast. Maybe she was aware that he'd spend long stretches of time locked in his room, afraid to draw his subject while she was around him. But he'd embed her in his memory. Her expressive eyes, her nose, her grin, her frowns, her foggy glasses, her tears, her crazy leaps for joy. As many expressions and poses as he could. He didn't want to forget her. He wanted to be so familiar with the shape of her that even after she was long gone he could draw her from muscle memory alone.

And what would she think of him when he died? What if she found one of the blood stained tomes on his person, or picked up one that he'd hidden in his drawer in his room?

She'd know. She'd remember his face in the way he tried to remember hers.

**Author's Note:**

> For my little, baby Soda who draws cute art. So I decided to write something that would make you cry. I don't know how that works, but it does in my head...


End file.
